And I see them look around to make sure someone sees their dog in flagrante.

I’m expecting them to make a quick getaway. I’m already thinking about standing up and walking elsewhere at the first waft. But the 2 guys are spied by too many people. They are officially a c c o u n t a b l e for their dog. 1 guy – the 1 with more stylish shades – pulls a green baggy out of his pocket and stoops down.

I look at the place where there once were 4-5 nuggets of fecal matter. There is only grass there now, grass no different from the grass I’m sitting on 2-3 ft away. Would I warn someone before they got comfortable on that sullied plot?

An old man with skunk hair walks right where the dog had his way and he doesn’t know anything except that he’s moving forward. The back of his shirt says,

KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD

A guy with a beige Stetson – that’s beaver on his head – listens to the 1-man-banjo-band doing DON’T THINK TWICE, IT’S ALRIGHT. He’s waiting for his wife to finish talking with 2 crunchy women, but they aren’t fucking leaving without getting some talk-time. I hear 1 of them say “visionary” and “energy” and “tell me more” before the guy can’t even fake interest. He looks politely at the 2 women who cornered his wife and walks toward the coffee booth. He claps when the banjo players sings,

2 different women buy Texas French Bread. The guy in the beanie takes a wad out of his pocket and flicks out change in dollar bills. The 2 women walk away with 1 loaf each. The guy in the beanie folds in 2 legs on 1 table. He’s running out of this week’s stock. To pass the time, he airs his wad and turns each bill to face the same direction.

A baby in a papoose straddles her mom’s torso. The mom looks around with both hands free. It looks like the baby flew into her with such great force that she clung, “You’re mine!”

But it’s really the opposite, I guess.

The 1-man-banjo-band has packed his belongings. He walks south, behind the tents of farm food.

The man in charge of The Best Tacos strokes his beard and rings his triangle.

“Hello, that’s me ringing! I don’t want to take any of my tacos home!”

A rotund and bespectacled Jesus figure saunters by with his shoulders thrown back. His shirt is yellow and has 3 Zs in the center.

The man in the beanie caps looks at me with a suspicious facial expression.

He probably thinks I’m camped out in front of his lucrative booth for malicious reasons.

A man plays acoustic guitar on the stage in front of the 500-year-old Live Oak.

“Glory, glory, hallelujah.
Glory, glory, hallelujah.”

The Best Taco vendor asks everyone around him to please acknowledge their hunger.